


everything i wanted

by Emptynarration



Series: I had a dream [1]
Category: Youtube RPF, Youtube egos, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Twins, Gen, Other Characters Are Mentioned, Past, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Child Abuse, Past Gambling Addiction, Twins, host and author are brothers, idk how to tag this at all, sorta hosts and authors past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:07:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22436905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emptynarration/pseuds/Emptynarration
Summary: A fic of two brothers, of twins, of two sides of a mirror.Being torn apart, ripped away from one another, left alone.Of broken promises by another hand, of dreams of everything you want, of nightmares to people who might care.Inspired by everything i wanted by billie eilish, in a way
Series: I had a dream [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1618699
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20





	everything i wanted

They were always together.

Ever since they were children, they had been together. The writer, and the speaker. The Author, and The Host. And it had always just been the two of them.   
Their father addicted to gambling, an important person who jumped from one extreme to the next with his available money, having fun with anyone and everyone who he wanted, far away from home.    
Their mother addicted to alcohol, coping with her husband’s infidelity, barely a day she was sober. Screaming and crying when her husband was home, blaming her children when he wasn’t.

Author was older than Host. At least it always felt like he was -they were twins, perfectly so. The same dark hair like their father, the same bright golden eyes their mother had had when the light reached her eyes. The same dark complexion of their father, the same white spots on their skin like their mother had.    
But Author was always the older brother. He protected Host when their mother screamed at them, he protected Host when she raised her hand against them, and he was the one Host had to worry about when he laid unconscious on the ground and shattered glass surrounding them, with their mother collapsed and sobbing, uncaring about the state of her children.   
It was always Author, who took everything. Took every bad thing, and made sure Host was alright. He took every hit their mother dished out, he took every screamed word, he took all the blame their parents put on them.

Together, they fled. They weren’t wanted. They were accidents, they were being told again and again their parents never wanted children, that they were the cause of all of their problems.   
So Author packed their bags, and Author stole the money, and Author held Host’s hand tight as they left in the middle of the night, walking and walking and walking. And it was Author who held Host when he cried, who reassured Host that it wasn’t their fault, and that their life would be better.

They had always liked to do their thing. Author had loved to write since he learned how to, and Host could talk like a waterfall.   
Host became very, very quiet. He didn’t want to upset their parents. He didn’t want to be loud. He didn’t want Author to get hurt because of him. So he stayed quiet, and he stayed with Author, and Author protected him.

Author found his powers first. Writing down stories and dreams as the two huddled together in bed late at night. He could do things he shouldn’t be able to. He could make things out of thin air. He could move things.    
They kept it secret, and they didn’t try to find what the Host could do, if he could do something. They didn’t want trouble. They didn’t want to be called freaks, be called an abomination, something that shouldn’t exist.

Author tried his best to provide for them while they were out, on their own. Host barely talked, but he was always there, always ready, always helping wherever he could.   
They knew about Host’s powers when he saved their life from a drunk driver.   
They had wanted to cross a road, try and find shelter. Host stopped them from stepping on the asphalt, and Author trusted him, because he was his brother, and he trusted him as much as Host trusted him. And the swiveling car rushed past them mere seconds later, right where they would’ve stood, had they stepped onto the road.

They didn’t force it. Not ever. They walked together, Author providing the little things he could make with his writing, and Host keeping them safe from things they couldn’t know beforehand normally. 

It all had been so long ago.

When they had been picked up off the street by a man too young to be an adult, but too old to be a child. Big, and soft, and warm. Sporting a pink mustache that made the twins giggle in his arms, as he swung them around and held them, and told them of a warm, safe home.   
They didn’t have anything to lose. Nothing but each other, and neither would ever leave the other. It was the promise they made over and over.

“I won’t ever leave you.”   
“I’ll always be there for you.”   
“We will never be apart.”

The manor was so big, but so  _ warm _ . So unlike what they knew of their home. The bigness intimidated them, but the pink man was so kind to them. Wilford, he said his name was, and the twins were more than happy to call him Will and Wilfy. They were still so young, no matter how long they had been outside. Just children.   
They met the pink man’s, Wilford’s, partner soon enough. He looked old. Much older than Wilford, but in a way a child looked old after taking care of their baby sibling for years without the help of a parent. The way a teddy bear who has been owned for decades, but only ever stood in shelves looked old.

Dark, he said his name was. The twins didn’t like him. Everything about him was, well,  _ dark _ . He had no colour, and nothing  _ around _ him had colour. The twins were afraid, if they got too close, they would lose all of their colour. That they would become grey, and boring, and cold. They stayed away from him.

Free to do as they pleased, with a big room for the both of them, with warm beds and a big window for the warm sun, they could explore. They were healthy again, getting fed properly and warm meals, being able to take care of themselves more than they could’ve been able on their own.   
Host opened up, but only to Author. He spoke, and he spoke, and he spoke. And Author wrote, and he wrote, and he wrote. They created stories and worlds together, they had adventures only the two of them ever experienced, in worlds no one else knew, and no one else would ever know. They did whatever they liked, in their little world, and only came out of it when they had to.

They had their “together place”. A little mind space they seemed to share, able to retreat into their heads and meet no matter how far apart. Be together, talk, hold the other, and be out of the world. In their little space, formed to whatever they wanted. 

His first vision was bad.

Host collapsed, from one second to the next, screaming his lungs out and clawing at his eyes, tremors rocking his body. Author didn’t know what to do, as he fell to his knees next to Host. He cried for help, scared, not knowing what was happening. He didn’t even care when it was Dark who came to help, who gently picked Host off the ground and held his wrists so he wouldn’t hurt himself further.   
Author nuzzled close, holding onto his brother, crying as he looked up at Dark and asked what was wrong.

How vulnerable he had been, then. How open.    
It could only be a child, how he had acted. Crying for his brother, confused about what was happening, unable to help.

He had been stuck with Host. They were inseparable. Host was always mumbling, to himself or to Author. Always holding onto the little writer’s hand, always needing him, needing his brother, needing his anchor.   
And Author never left him out of his sight. He needed to protect Host, and he needed to make sure he’d be alright. And when another vision came, he was there, and he was prepared for it. He didn’t cry, and he didn’t call for help, and he didn’t feel vulnerable.   
Together, they developed into trouble makers. Author got more and more “out there” ideas, pushing and pushing and pushing the limits of his writing, letting his written words worm into the heads of people, until he could control them and their thoughts.   
Host was far less inclined to do the same. He didn’t want to hurt anyone. But, Author wasn’t  _ hurting _ anyone. He was just training his powers -he said so himself. And Host trusted Author, because he was his brother, and he loved him more than anything.

It was Dark who didn’t trust the writer. 

Host’s soft narrating was having the same effects on people, though he didn’t try to force it, he wasn’t pushing at his abilities like Author. He was slower, but he was letting it happen naturally. He supposed that was the difference between the two, in the end.   
And because of Author’s pushing, and pushing, never caring about his own boundaries and the limits of his powers, he  _ tried _ and he  _ pushed _ , and Dark knew he was dangerous. The way the writer’s words wormed into people’s head -he even managed to manipulate Dark, once. Before he had managed to shake it off, aura coiling tight like a snake, dangerously hissing like a cat protecting her kittens.   
He didn’t like Author. He would be dangerous, with the power he was pushing to do more and more. He’d hurt himself, he’d hurt Host, and he’d hurt others. And that was what Dark needed to prevent -the child shouldn’t be able to hurt anyone.

They weren’t children anymore, though. They were still young, and they were not the same anymore, but also still connected like only they could be. No matter which new people came to the manor, no matter what relationships they had and formed, the twins stuck together. Dark compared them to two sides of a mirror. The same, but not.   
Host was taking after Author, like a reflection, copying whatever his brother did. Older, wiser, stronger, Author was someone to look up to. And while Host’s visions warned him, he didn’t care. He never heeded these warnings of a future they could’ve avoided.

Dark confronted Author. And with Author, Host came as well. Dark didn’t take to words, the void ripping open around them, swallowing them. And while Author looked fearless in the face of danger, Host knew better. He felt the tremor of Author’s hand in his, he heard his narrations -not many, but he mumbled them, and they got more- and how they told of the fear Author felt.   
They had never tried to confront Dark before. They stayed in their little world, where they could learn their powers, could push and push at them until they were stronger than anyone, and didn’t need to depend on anyone but themselves.   


But here Dark was, and he was ripping Author away from Host. And it was Host who screamed, and it was Author who struggled and panicked. Because he couldn’t do anything against Dark, he couldn’t use his powers, his words were barely as effective as Host’s were.   
“Host,  _ help me! _ ”, Author cried, breathing harsh, struggling against Dark’s hold as the void pulled at them more and more.   
And Host tried, he tried desperately, and he pulled and pulled at Dark and his powers and his aura. And it didn’t appreciate the Host’s words pulling at him, and it defended itself against the Host.

No one could expect it to hurt Host. No one could expect what happened.

Author could do nothing but scream, as Host laid bleeding, as Host laid unmoving. And Author cursed Dark, he swore that he would be back, he swore he’d do worse to Dark and anyone who tried to keep him from Host than anyone could imagine. He was snarling, breathing heavily, golden eyes blazing.   
Only once he was being dragged, swallowed by the darkness, did Author  _ beg _ , pleading over and over “Host will be alright, Host will be alright, my brother will be alright”, until he was alone, until he was surrounded by cold darkness, until he could see nothing, hear nothing, smell nothing, feel nothing.

And Host, he woke up alone.

He couldn’t see. He was cold. He couldn’t feel the presence of his brother anymore, and his heart felt heavy.   
Author was gone. His second half, was gone. He felt a strange emptiness. He relaxed, thought of their together place, a place they’ve spend so much time in. A place they could  _ always _ be together. A place they could go to no matter where they were, and be together.   
But he didn’t feel the familiar feeling of Author’s mind. He didn’t feel the other anywhere near him. He was alone, and their together place was ripped apart at the seems. Without both twins there, it couldn’t work.

Host was quiet. He didn’t talk to the doctor, he didn’t talk to Wilford, he ignored everyone. When he saw Dark, the air around him felt heavy, and dark, and filled with hate. Dark had banished his brother into the void, was keeping him from him, and Dark was the reason for all of his problems. His blindness, his bleeding sockets, the loss of his family.   
Host distanced himself from all of them. He didn’t want to be with them. He wanted his brother back.

On some nights, Host would wake up. Sobbing drenched in blood.   
Author was always there. He kept him safe, he protecting him. And no matter how weak Host seemed compared to his brother, Author thought nothing but the best of him. Host could never be weak. Host was the most amazing person in Author’s life, and Author was the most amazing person in Host’s life. No one but the two of them mattered, no one mattered to them more than they did to each other.   
Now, Host wakes up alone. Curling tightly up in the bed he’s shared with Author more often than he could count, met with nothing but cold sheets and cold pillows, and the smell of washed laundry and his blood.    
It didn’t matter how much Host cried, how much he sobbed, how much he missed his brother. It felt like a nightmare, and it probably could’ve been. Just a bad dream, from which he just had to wake up from

Sometimes, Host stood at the edge, and he wondered if he could see Author again if he stepped off. What was it like, being trapped in a void for years and years? To be taken away from everyone, to be isolated, to be kept alive without any needs. To be so utterly alone, in a space where one wished they were dead?   
He wondered if it was just like being dead. Wasn’t this already hell? Being without his brother seemed worse the longer time went on. He merely got better at hiding it.

His powers grew, his visions swamped him more often, and he shouldered them alone. He was needed, the others would say. He was useful, they would say. Everyone wanted him, for one reason or another, and Host hated it. He didn’t want to let them down, like he had been so often.

He stepped off the ledge, watching. He could feel them all there. They were standing there, doing nothing. They didn’t even notice. And Host wasn’t sure if it was everything he wanted, or if it was just a nightmare.   
Submerged in the freezing water, floating, sinking, weightless. It felt like the void, grabbing him, wrapping around him, pulling and pulling, and this time, he didn’t struggle. And he felt like Author must have, when he was pulled away by the void, when they were torn apart, and Host screamed, screamed through the water. All his sounds muffled, unheard.

When he woke up, he was alone. He was cold, the blood on his face wet, and he lost everything he wanted once more.    
He just wanted him back. He just wanted his brother. He would never forget him. He would never forget him, and would never replace him. He was distant from the others, and he didn’t care. They didn’t need to know why he hated Dark, they didn’t need to know why he flinched when someone raised their voice, and they didn’t need to know why he burrowed into his huge trenchcoat to hide when someone raised their hand. Because he was on his own now, without his brother, without the one who was supposed to always be there.

And he’d leave, go to his room and curl up, and would dream. Would dream of his brother, would dream of being swallowed by the cold grasp of the void to be with him again. He’d dream of getting everything he wanted, no matter if it seemed like a nightmare to anyone who might care.

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a lot different, but here we are  
> It's. Something. I hope you liked it?


End file.
